Another birthday… yawn. No biggie, collecting biological years is easy. How old you ask? Let’s just say I’m past a “certain age.” The worry is not the non-nonchalant inevitability of aging… no, it’s the preferred option over death. My concern is deeper, one that my husband and I discuss when alone and free of distractions.
I usually start…
“When do you think it happens?” I’ll ask.
“You know, the pants thing?”
“Yeah, tall pants.”
You know what we’re talking about. C’mon, we’ve all noticed, but dare not speak about it. It’s merciless, striking ALL the elderly, no exception, whether man or woman, short or tall, ex-pole dancer or plumber, we all end up with trousers hiked up to our armpits. What about the kids wearing triple sized jeans, gregariously sashed at the thigh? The ones walking around looking like toddlers packing a load? Yep… someday they’ll look like the circus tall guy walking around on stilts, belted at the chest.
Is anyone safe? For years we’ve kept hope that our side buckle, hip hugger, generation, would claim victory over this tricky trouser hitch. Sadly, as we’ve crept into the “certain age” arena, we’ve witnessed the rise in waist lines all around us. We don’t exactly know how, why or when it happens. With each birthday the question nags away.
Is it sudden? One day, walking down the street, you catch your reflection in a store window, finding your trousers cinched snugly around your chest.
Or is it more of a paradigm shift in thought, a cartoon light bulb appearing in a bubble over your head? Standing in the mirror you make a sound decision, yanking jeans up over the gut, proudly parading around for all to see… but why?
Is it a dormant virus we carry like chicken pox, lying in wait for its moment of attack? If so, why has no one developed a vaccine?
Could it be a consequence of a seemingly innocent toddler fashion faux pas such as the footed sleeper or too tight Onesie? What about tall diapers?
It might be that we are victims to a secret force of prankster angels, trained in wedgies, who sneak up on those of a “certain age,” tugging toward the heavens.
No one is safe. Last month, my husband called me, visibly shaken after an encounter too close to home.
“My brother… it’s happening. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“What’s happening?, I asked.
“Mark is showing premature signs of… tall pants.”
Scared for his own future, Sandy asked his brother the tough question.
“So, what’s with the tall pants?”
In Mark’s case, his wife tossed his size 34 jeans out, replacing them with size 36, leaving him with pants falling to his ankles unless he succumbed to the under arm belt mode. But not everyone’s wife is the culprit. We all know a bachelorette, of a “certain age,” who tucks her boobs into her belt, and a horde of white haired bachelors whose suspenders end under the shoulders.
Seems I should say something profound here… like it doesn’t matter… worse things could happen… Hmmm… let me think….
No… not happening… it does matter!
You can’t stop it. I think we all know that. But, here’s a few tips to prolong this involuntary event.
Use the buddy system. Don’t go it alone. My husband and I keep check on each other. You’ll need a tape measure and a vengeance for honesty.
Watch for early signs. Premature cases of creeping waist lines appear to be spreading rapidly. Face the mirror, ask the defining question: “Have I gotten taller? No? I thought not.
Women only: If your bra and belt serve a dual purpose? You have been infected!
Men Only: One question… does it hurt? You have been infected!
Be aware. Safeguard against sneak attacks by scheduling periodic pant tugging times throughout your day.
Alternative care. Try sewing drapery weights into the hem of your trousers. We’ve yet to test this, but it should slow the creeping up process.
Denial is not your friend. Don’t stay in the closet. If you’re wearing a huge T-shirt disguising the tall pants underneath, tell someone and get help.
We encourage you to join a support group. As of this date, I only know of one—ours. Send us a photo, will give you a free, zero obligation evaluation of the pants situation.
Remember, admitting the problem is the first step toward recovery.